


Steve's Pizza

by burninglikeabridge



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 21:17:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2083452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninglikeabridge/pseuds/burninglikeabridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they finally found the right place, it was nearly perfect.<br/>Well, it was shitty.<br/>But they could live right above the restaurant, and they could put the sign right on the front, and everything could be exactly as it needed to be. And Steve's eyes lit up when they walked inside, as if he could see their whole future there. All Bucky saw was a climbing price. And Steve. He always saw Steve.<br/>The building was ugly, and it would be a long time before it could function as anything.<br/>And Steve fell in love with it.<br/>And then Bucky fell in love with Steve.<br/>~<br/>I recently went to New York and saw a sign for a pizza shop that read "Steve's Pizza" so here have some pizza shop owning (sort of) AU with Steve/Bucky</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steve's Pizza

~  
"I want to make pizza."  
Steve said.  
He spoke simply, precisely, as if that was the only thing he could possibly say; as if it was all he needed to say.  
Bucky had heard it before- twelve times now, to be exact.  
Bucky and Steve sat at their tiny kitchen table in their shared apartment, on the second floor in a dirty complex in Brooklyn. It wasn't very nice, but it was very cheap.  
They'd lived together ever since Steve's mom had died; six years ago. It was just them.  
All they had was each other.  
Bucky faced away from Steve, towards the door. He didn't want an argument. Not again, not over this.  
It sounded like such a simple, innocent request.  
But it wasn't just a meal. It wasn't just food.  
It was Steve, asking for more than pizza. It was Steve asking for opportunity, for a business, for money, for support.  
Steve wanted to open a restaurant.  
It was a dream. Bucky encouraged Steve's dreams, but as much as he did, he was also the one that had to be realistic.  
Bucky wanted to give him all of that, but he didn't have anything to give.  
They lived in Brooklyn, for christ's sake. There was a pizza parlor on every corner. What would make this one any different? Any more special? They just didn't have the resources, or the money, or even the time.  
"Steve, there's already tons of pizza joints, and we really don't-"  
"Let's do this. Buck, you know that... Time is a big deal."  
Bucky stopped. He hated hearing that.  
He knew what Steve meant; Steve's time was a big deal. Steve- 90 pounds, asthmatic, sickly. He was always sick with something. And when Steve got sick, he was nearly on his death bed.  
Bucky learned not to take anything for granted.  
"Steve..."  
Bucky turned to face him.  
Steve was looking right at him, so hopefully, with so many big dreams.  
He caved. Looking at Steve's sad, bright eyes, he gave in. He always did.  
"I'll try."  
"Try?" Steve's face lit up, and Bucky felt a surge of adoration for him.  
"We'll scrape together some cash, try and pick up extra work. We'll... Try, okay Stevie?"  
For you, Bucky wanted to add. And only for you. You crazy punk.  
Instead he mustered up a smile.  
"Thank you, Buck." Steve beamed.  
The smile on his face made everything worth it. 

 

It took them precisely four months and Bucky three extra jobs to get enough money to even start looking for a building.  
Bucky was working himself half to death, but coming home to find Steve waiting for him was worth it.  
Bucky would walk in the door and Steve would show him the drawings he finished, or the song he listened to that day.  
He did that every day up until the Thursday they went hunting for buildings.  
"Today's the day." Steve slid on his shoes, and Bucky grabbed Steve's jacket. He pulled it over Steve's shoulders, and Steve frowned at him, but slid it on anyways.  
"It is." Bucky nodded.  
He was nervous.  
They'd have to keep up with not only an apartment, but also a restaurant. Which meant they'd need workers, supplies, and, of course, food. It was more than just a second rent. It was a second life.  
Bucky just wasn't sure if they could do it.  
Steve turned to him.  
"Buck..."  
"Yeah?" Bucky breathed. Steve leaned closer, on his toes, and for an insane moment, Bucky thought he might lean too close. How close would be too close?, he wondered.  
Instead, Steve's hands found Bucky's collar and he concentrated his attention there.  
He straightened Bucky's tie, and Bucky let himself breathe.  
"Ready?" The corner of Steve's mouth quirked up in a little half smile, the kind he saved only for Bucky.  
"Yeah." Bucky replied, relieved but a little disappointed, for some reason. 

 

When they finally found the right place, it was nearly perfect.  
Well, it was shitty. But there was an apartment space above, and the owner was renting it cheap, because it was filthy, and needed more repairs than it was probably worth. The pipes leaked, the walls had holes, the paint was shredded to hell and the furniture was filthy.  
But they could live right above the restaurant, and they could put the sign right on the front, and everything could be exactly as it needed to be. And Steve's eyes lit up when they walked inside, as if he could see their whole future there. All Bucky saw was a climbing price. And Steve. He always saw Steve.  
The building was ugly, and it would be a long time before it could function as anything.  
And Steve fell in love with it.  
And then Bucky fell in love with Steve. 

 

It seemed to happen to him as swiftly as a wall being knocked down, a door kicked in. It felt like a punch to the gut, a kick in the teeth. It was startling and terrifying.  
Bucky had always loved Steve. He took care of him. They were there for each other. Steve was funny, and kind, and smart.  
But standing in front of him, realizing how in love he was with Steve; it was paralyzing.  
He had to act like he didn't want to kiss Steve constantly. He had to stop staring at him. He had to figure it out.  
Bucky was scared out of his mind, and he had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do now. 

 

"I hate cleaning." Bucky wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, undoubtedly smearing dirt across his face.  
He was attempting to clean the grime from the walls and floor of their future restaurant.  
It wasn't too small inside, but piles of junk and garbage were scattered around, and everything was covered in a thick layer of dirt and dust.  
Bucky coughed, choking on the smell of bleach and the smell of trash.  
Steve grinned at him from the counter in the corner, the area that would become the kitchen.  
"Look! This place is practically a restaurant already!" Steve wiped off the counter. "There's even an oven. It's great!"  
"It's filthy!" Bucky tried not to smile back, and failed. Steve was so hopeful, even in the completely hopeless shithole that was supposed to become his dreams.  
"So are you! I still keep you around." Steve smiled, a little crooked, and it was startlingly charming. Bucky felt a painful rush of affection for him.  
"Shut up." Bucky felt heat rushing to his face and he turned away.  
Shit, Steve. He wondered. When did you get so damn flirty?  
Steve went back to cleaning.  
He coughed. One, then twice, then collapsed into a fit of coughs.  
"Steve?" Bucky dropped his towel and moved to run to Steve.  
"No. I'm.... It's okay."  
"It's not. You shouldn't be doing this. What the hell was I thinking? You shouldn't even be in here." Bucky walked over to him, berating himself. Stupid, stupid.  
Steve could barely breathe in a clean room, let alone in a complete dump.  
"I'm... Fine." Steve struggled to catch his breath.  
"Don't give me that shit, Rogers. I know you." Bucky grabbed Steve's arm and pulled it over his shoulder, supporting Steve's weight and pulling him along.  
"Please- I just-"  
Bucky waited.  
Steve was so stubborn. But he was also so sick.  
"Steve." He warned.  
"Okay." Steve's voice was small and hoarse.  
Bucky pulled them both outside, where Steve heaved and struggled for breath in the sunlight.  
"No more." Bucky decided.  
"It's never going to be finished!"  
"I'll finish it." He snapped.  
"You... You'd do that?"  
"I'd do anything for... The restaurant." Bucky hesitated. He'd meant to say 'you.' He didn't care about a restaurant. He cared about Steve.  
Steve threw his arms around Bucky's waist in a haphazard hug.  
Bucky rested his chin on top of Steve's head, as a reminder to himself, the real reason why he was doing all of this. 

 

"Miraculous. Amazing. Unbelievable." Bucky chanted, standing back, looking up at the finished building.  
It took them nearly a month- rent free, because they were only repairing things, not moving in- but they cleaned and restored the building, to a point.  
"I can't believe this." Steve murmured.  
They'd seen it; yes, but they were completely finished now, and to fully realize that it was happening, that was another thing entirely.  
Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky's, smiling up at him.  
Bucky nearly passed out when he looked down at Steve.  
Miraculous, amazing, unbelievable, he thought. This time, he wasn't talking about the building. 

 

It took them two days to move into the little apartment space above the restaurant.  
One to get a taxi to bring their boxes to the apartment, and another to unpack everything and put it in its place.  
"Only because you won't let me take anything." Steve said, over and over.  
The first day, moving boxes, was just as stressful as Bucky had imagined it.  
They only had ten, maybe twelve boxes full of their belongings. They didn't have much.  
Bucky insisted on carrying all of the heavier boxes.  
He let Steve carry boxes with clothes and blankets.  
At first, Steve didn't take notice. But after the third box, he started to pout.  
"Quit whining and lift the boxes, then." Bucky replied, and then Steve tried to lift a heavier box, and nearly dropped it on Bucky's foot.  
"Shit- Steve- give that to-"  
"I'm not a baby!" Steve frowned, but he set the box back down.  
"I know you aren't a baby!" Bucky set his box on the sidewalk and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.  
"Quit mothering me, then." Steve snapped.  
"Trust me, the last thing I want to do to you is mother you. And there's plenty of things. In fact, that's not even on the list." Bucky snorted.  
Recognition flitted across Steve's eyes for a moment, and he looked down. A blush creeped up his neck.  
"Oh, I-" Realization dawned on Bucky, and he understood what Steve thought he'd meant.  
That Bucky would do plenty of things to him, but nothing remotely motherly. That he even had a list of things.  
"I know what you meant." Steve said, too quickly. He didn't look up at Bucky, but instead picked up the last box and moved past Bucky to walk inside.  
"I'm sorry." Steve told him, when they bumped shoulders in the doorway, and his voice was barely audible.  
Bucky didn't respond right away. He stepped forward and set his box on the first stair.  
He turned to Steve, grabbing his shoulders, and giving him his best lighthearted smile.  
"It's okay. Hey, we've got everything. You don't need to worry about anything. I've got you."  
A smile bloomed on Steve's face.  
"Then everything is okay." He said slowly.  
"Everything is real good, Stevie."  
Bucky picked his box up again and Steve went up the stairs ahead of him.  
He watched Steve's blonde head disappear around the corner before he started up the steps.  
Shit, he thought. What have I gotten myself into? 

 

"Day one, next week. Right?" Steve asked.  
He stood in the small kitchen, testing a new recipe.  
Bucky lounged at one of the tables closest to him.  
The place had had six tables left in it, and they cleaned up and used those same tables. They were a bit rough, but, Steve said, when business got good they would be able to buy more.  
The walls were mostly bare, save for the three photographs in the corner that Steve took a while back when they went to the coast.  
Steve said they weren't even in focus, but Bucky liked them.  
"That's right." Bucky smiled, resting his foot on the chair across from him.  
"Don't get that all dirty!" Steve frowned, setting down a spoon.  
"I thought you liked dirty! You said that's why you keep me around!" Bucky laughed.  
"That is not what I said!"  
Bucky just laughed again, feeling remarkably lighthearted.  
Money was good, Steve was good. Well, money was decent. For now. And Steve had gone six whole days without an asthma attack.  
So, things were good.  
Bucky snuck a glance at Steve, while he was focused on stirring something in a bowl.  
He looked calm. Happy, even. He caught Bucky looking at him and offered one of those tiny crooked smiles. Bucky's heart skipped.  
Yeah, things were good.

 

The restaurant started off shaky.  
A few people drifted in.  
Which meant that just as little money was coming in, too.  
Bucky took up odd jobs to get a little extra money.  
They made their first month's rent by the skin of their teeth.  
Steve didn't ask where the extra cash came from, and Bucky didn't tell him.  
Steve was exhausted constantly. Bucky asked about hiring more cooks. Steve insisted on doing it alone, with the exception of Bucky's minor help.  
Still, Steve seemed to be smiling more than he used to. Bucky seemed to be staring more than he used to.  
There also seemed to be more and more things that Bucky wasn't telling Steve. 

 

They weren't an anonymous building anymore.  
They were a restaurant.  
They put a sign on the front of the building after another two weeks.  
Bucky cut the wood for the sign.  
Steve painted the sign.  
They hung it together (Bucky nailed it up, and Steve stood back, making sure it was straight.)  
It read, "Steve's Pizza",upon Bucky's insistence that they left his name off of it.  
They'd argued about it before settling on that:  
"You're just as much a part of this, Buck."  
"It's yours." Bucky shook his head.  
"It's ours."  
As much as that single phrase had made Bucky want to plant a kiss on Steve right there in the middle of the kitchen, he still stood his ground on the sign.  
Steve needed this, as small of an independence as it was. And Bucky wasn't going to latch onto his success, to take any of that satisfaction away from him. This little thing had to be Steve's.  
Steve hated the selfishness of it, but he hated fiercely arguing with Bucky more. He preferred to stick to their usual constant pattern of playful bickering.  
Once the sign was hung, things seemed to be complete.  
The business was running.  
The holes in the walls were patched up.  
Bucky still felt like he had a hole in his chest. 

 

"I love the pizza!"  
Steve and Bucky both stood behind the counter of the restaurant, talking to a small woman with a thick accent and big hair.  
Steve beamed, and Bucky politely smiled.  
"Thank you." Steve told her.  
"Such a nice place! Such nice boys!" The woman smiled up at them. She looked at both of them, a knowing look, and smiled a different kind of smile then.  
"You do not see young couples running restaurants together very often!"  
Young couples?  
Bucky's blood ran cold and he immediately turned to Steve, watching as the realization dawned on him.  
Steve looked startled at first, but then his face went pale.  
"I- um, thank you, but me and- we aren't, Steve isn't-" Bucky sputtered.  
"Thank you." Steve interrupted, cool and calm, and offered another small smile.  
On that note, the woman walked away, back to her table.  
Steve turned and started to wipe off the counter.  
"What-"  
"Don't be a baby. She was nice. And confused, yeah, but nice. Also, a customer." Steve raised an eyebrow. The color slowly faded back into his face, and- Bucky thought maybe it was just the lighting and the heat of the kitchen, but- he thought that Steve might've been blushing.  
"It's just that she th-" Bucky started.  
"Thought you were my boyfriend?" Steve laughed sharply. The word felt like a punch to Bucky's gut, and Steve's voice was clipped and harsh. "Don't worry, and no, you don't seem like you're that way, and no I don't think anyone else-"  
"I'm not mad."  
Not mad that anyone thinks I'm your boyfriend, he thought, I'm mad that it's not true.  
"Then what?" Steve slammed his towel on the table, with more force than was really needed.  
"Nothing." Bucky pressed his lips together, holding back. Always holding back. "She was nice. It's nothing." Nothing.  
"Okay. So we've established that." It hurt, the fact that Steve agreed that it was nothing; all of this tension in the air, these feelings, the woman's comment- it was nothing to him. Bucky tried not to think about it, but it stung.  
Steve turned away again, and he didn't speak for a long time.  
In fact, he didn't speak except to customers for the rest of the night. 

 

They sat in their apartment that night, silent, across from each other on the floor, a forgotten board game strewn between them.  
Steve stared at the ground, and Bucky looked anywhere but Steve.  
"I wouldn't care, you know." Steve broke the silence.  
"What?" Bucky looked at him then, but couldn't read his expression.  
"If you were queer." Bucky drew a sharp breath, and nearly snapped a gameboard piece in half in his hand. Steve bit his lip. "I wouldn't care." His tone was nearly flat, but there was a hint of something else there. Hesitation?  
Bucky didn't know what to say. He didn't know how Steve had noticed. He'd been so careful. He tried not to stare as much, he never said anything, he tried. He tried so hard.  
Steve was looking at him, waiting for a reply.  
"Okay. Well... I'm not. But... Okay." He stumbled over the words. Bucky exhaled, feeling dizzy.  
"Okay." Steve mumbled. He traced his finger over the game in front of them, staring at it intently as if it held the answers to his questions.  
Bucky cleared his throat, and attempted to pull himself together.  
"I wouldn't care, either. You know, if you were." Bucky tried to sound light, but Steve kept his head down.  
"Okay."  
"Okay. Well... Okay."  
"I think I'm going to sleep."  
Bucky would usually be glad that Steve was taking care of himself, going to sleep early, resting.  
But he knew Steve would just lay on his floor, wide awake. He knew something was bothering Steve.  
Bucky just didn't have the guts to ask. 

 

Bucky questioned why he ever took Steve to the bar.  
Steve liked to make declarations when they went out drinking. Not too loud, not big ones, just little phrases that he insisted on making known.  
Tonight, his declaration was:  
"You are so important to me, James Buchanan Barnes."  
While he leaned halfway over the bar, halfway onto Bucky, which gave Bucky terribly nervous feelings of anticipation and affection at first, but then just worried him.  
Steve was a very sloppy drunk.  
Not sloppy in a gross sense, or a disprespectful sense, no; Steve was a very sloppy, affectionate drunk.  
He hung all over Bucky, on his arm, his shoulder, his side.  
Not that Bucky actually minded, no; but it caused lots of staring from other people in the bar, and on occasion, even snide comments.  
Steve was a textbook lightweight; 90 pounds, and he could barely drink a few beers before climbing into bed or onto a couch and dozing off.  
"Alright. Home." Bucky wrapped one arm around Steve's thin waist and hoisted him up off the bar stool.  
"I'm an adult!" Steve frowned.  
"Then walk like one!" Steve took a shaky step, falling back onto Bucky's chest with a breathy laugh.  
Bucky grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him from the bar.  
The harsh, cold night air seemed to wake Steve up, because he blinked a few times and looked at Bucky with clearer eyes.  
"Come on." Bucky carefully placed his palm in the middle of Steve's back to gently guide him forward, but Steve seemed to be okay on his own. He kept his touch featherlight, just brushing the fabric of Steve's shirt. He was afraid that if he really grabbed onto Steve, he'd never let go.  
As soon as Steve took a steady step, Bucky moved his hand away.  
They walked in silence, slowly, for a few minutes.  
Steve stopped, leaning his arm against the side of the building nearest them. He put his other hand over his face.  
"Buck." Steve's voice sounded strangled and urgent. "I've got to tell you." He looked up, and his eyes were swimming with tears.  
He cried when he was drunk, sometimes. He also said stupid things, sometimes, too.  
"Are you okay? What is it?" Bucky stepped next to him, a hesitant hand reaching for him.  
When Steve spoke, his voice shook and so did his hands. The dim glow of the streetlamp made him look even paler.  
"I like you."  
Bucky dropped his hand, letting a nervous laugh escape.  
"I like you too, kid." Bucky forced a smile, his heart racing.  
"No, Bucky. I like you." Steve spoke clearly and without caution now, and when he met Bucky's eyes, he looked perfectly coherent.  
"Steve-" Bucky swore under his breath and took a step back, running his sweating hands through his hair. Isn't this what he wanted to hear?  
But not like this.  
His mind is racing. And he can't do this. Not to Steve. Steve deserves better than requited, queer, alleyway-confessed attempts at love. Steve deserves more.  
"You're wasted. Steve, come on." Bucky tried to breathe, but his words came out mangled anyways.  
"Buck, I'm serious." Steve refused to back down, or look away. He met Bucky's eyes with an unwavering gaze.  
Oh, god.  
"I can't... Steve I can't do this, okay?" He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. "You know we can't do this." He was just babbling, trying to say as much as he could, trying to clear Steve's painfully honest words from the air.  
Steve had no idea that they couldn't talk like this; Steve never considered the future much. He lived in the now. He made bad choices.  
This was one of them, Bucky realized. Steve doesn't feel that way. He's being bold. He's being brave. He doesn't want this.  
"I can't do this. Not with you." Bucky shook his head.  
Steve swallowed, and looked down at his hands, twisting them together.  
"Oh. I... I just thought... Oh."  
"Steve. Please. You're drunk. And tired. Things will be clearer tomorrow. We don't have to talk about this, we can forget it." Bucky nearly choked, but he managed to get it out.  
Steve's face fell, but he nodded and started walking again.  
He looked sad. He looked disappointed.  
Bucky felt the same.  
Back at their apartment, they didn't say goodnight, and neither of them slept much.  
Bucky thought about Steve. He let himself imagine.  
Imagine a time where he could love Steve freely, where Steve loved him back. He drifted to sleep with these ideas.  
He woke up feeling empty, with a headache.  
When Bucky woke up, it was close to 10, and Steve was already gone. Downstairs, Bucky heard the telltale sound of pans shuffling around. He was cooking.  
Bucky laid there for another hour before going down.  
Steve didn't offer any greeting.  
He simply set a glass of water on the counter, almost as a peace offering.  
Bucky drank the water in silence, grateful that his headache seemed to be fading.  
They spoke later that day, but didn't mention the night before.  
Bucky wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved. 

 

Steve always wanted to be bigger than himself. He wanted to change lives, make impacts, save things. He wanted to be a hero. Not for the credit, but just because his heart was that big.  
"I wanted to be important." He told Bucky one day, while they laid on the apartment floor, staring at the ceiling.  
When Bucky spoke, the words slipped out with ease, and he didn't hesitate.  
"You are. To me."  
Shit. That was too much. He tensed, wondering if Steve would be weirded out, or just laugh and call him a sap.  
Instead, Steve rolled to his side, staring at Bucky with a little half smile on his face.  
"What?" Bucky smiled back. His breath caught in his throat when he looked over.  
Steve looked like an angel, with the sun from the window pouring in, turning his blonde hair gold and making his eyes too bright and clear. He looked sleepy and calm, his head tilted.  
"Nothing." Steve murmured, and his smile widened.  
For a moment, he opened his mouth as if to say something, then seemed conflicted. He pressed his lips together. Bucky could've sworn Steve glanced at his mouth.  
After a second, he turned away again and looked back up at the blank white space.  
"Nothing." Steve repeated blankly.  
The clean white of the ceiling was suddenly overwhelmingly frustrating, and Bucky got up to sit on the couch instead.  
Steve stayed on the floor for a long time after that, his mouth twisted in a frown. 

 

"I love this place." Steve told him.  
They were cleaning up at the end of a particularly busy day in the restaurant when it happened.  
"Do you?" Bucky was just trying to make conversation. Things had been weird for days. He just wanted it all to be okay.  
"I love it. It's perfect. I love the ugly chairs. I love the tiny kitchen. I love doing all of this. I love this place, Buck." Steve's mouth quirked up in a little smile, and he stopped sweeping to meet Bucky's eyes. He had dirt smudged on his cheek, and his hair was a mess. He looked earnest, and wonderful, and almost desperate, as if he was silently pleading something.  
"I love you."  
Bucky said it without meaning to, and his voice came out scratchy and shaky. He slapped a hand over his own mouth, swearing.  
Steve looked confused for a second, and then his eyes widened.  
"You said you wouldn't care." Bucky blurted, shaking his head.  
"What? You're telling me you... And shit, Buck, I damn well do care." Steve laughed, nervous and forced, as if he could laugh it all off, and this would go away.  
"You said you wouldn't care if I..."  
"I love you too." Steve choked out.  
It felt like he'd been punched; of course he'd wanted to hear that, but now what? What the hell has he gotten himself into?  
Bucky took a deep, ragged breath.  
Oh, fuck.  
"No, Steve. Listen. I'm in love with you. I'm telling you that you're more than my best friend. Steve, I... I need you to hear this."  
"I'm listening." Steve dropped the broom he held, and stepped so that he was standing directly in front of Bucky. His jaw was set and his gaze didn't waver.  
"I.... I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to- Steve, please don't-" Bucky pleaded, his face in his hands.  
"You're an idiot." Steve said simply.  
"What?" It caught him by surprise, and he looked up.  
Steve was smiling, faintly, as he shook his head.  
"Oh my god, you fucking-" Steve closed the distance in one swift step. He grabbed Bucky's face in both of his hands, and connected their mouths in a hard, slightly off, kiss. Bucky kissed him back just as hard, grasping for Steve blindly, stumbling back into the counter behind him. He found a hold on Steve's waist, let Steve back him against the counter.  
Bucky's mind was everywhere but his hands were steady.  
I'm kissing Steve, he told himself. I'm kissing him.  
It was nothing like he'd expected. Steve was light and warm and soft but he wasn't fragile, and he was kissing hard enough to bruise.  
Bucky pulled back to breathe, dizzy and light headed.  
"Shut up." Steve panted. His hair falling into his eyes, his shirt disheveled.  
"I didn't say-"  
"You were going to." Steve smirked, standing up on his toes to press a featherlight kiss to the corner of Bucky's mouth. "I know you." He breathed, mouth against Bucky's neck, and Bucky nearly moaned just at the feeling of him so close.  
"Steve."  
Bucky pulled back enough to look down at him.  
He didn't deserve him, and he felt it like a ton of bricks in that moment. He did not deserve Steve Rogers.  
"Yeah?" Steve smiled.  
He didn't deserve Steve, but- hell, here he was, and Bucky wanted him.  
"Could I-?" Bucky asked, hesitant. He slowly let his hand come up to rest on Steve's cheek.  
This was new territory. Uncharted territory. And he didn't want to fuck up.  
"Kiss me." Steve pressed forward again, chest to chest with Bucky.  
"Are you sure?" Bucky could barely breathe.  
"Are you stupid? Yes, I'm sure." Steve raised an eyebrow and leaned closer. "If you don't..." He was close enough that his mouth brushed against Bucky's, and Bucky held his breath. "Then I will."  
Bucky snapped, pushing his mouth against Steve's, sliding a hand into his hair.  
Steve was surprised, but kissed him back full force, with two fistfuls of Bucky's jacket pulling him close.  
It seemed like a long time before Steve pulled back.  
"Yeah." He mumbled, pressing his palms against Bucky's chest.  
"What?"  
"That was exactly like I thought it'd be." Steve spoke softly, dazed.  
"What does that mean?" Bucky frowned.  
"Calm yourself, Barnes." Steve smirked. "I always thought you'd be good."  
"You thought about it?"  
Steve sighed, resting a hand on Bucky's shoulder.  
"Don't be an asshole. Of course I did. That's all I think about."  
Steve looked down.  
"I want to do this." Steve sounded hesitant.  
"What do you... Want?" Bucky spoke slowly. He didn't have any expectations now. He'd never imagined that any of this would happen. He didn't know what to think. He just waited.  
"I want this. You and me. For... A long time. For... As a permanent thing, if you wanted. If it was- I just meant- not permanent if that's not- but... Well." Steve looked up at him and shrugged.  
"You mean that? You and me? Til the end of time?" Bucky smiled, only half joking.  
"Til the end of the line, Buck." Steve laughed. "You know that. Don't play dumb. You've always known that."  
It was something they said to each other often, but it always made an impact. The line always hit Bucky hard, for some reason. It was a promise, of something permanent. Until the end of the line; of their line.  
Until the end, of whatever this was.  
He waited for a moment, trying to process everything that was happening.  
"Yes." Bucky nodded.  
"Yes?" Steve raised an eyebrow.  
"Yes, I'll go out with you. Because you asked me nicely." Bucky tried not to smile.  
Steve rolled his eyes.  
"Shut up!" He shoved Bucky back against the counter, and tried to look angry.  
They ended up grinning at each other.  
Steve let out a slow breath.  
"We can't makeout on the counter all night, as ideal as that could be. We should get this place cleaned up and go to bed." Steve moved back and went to pick up the broom again.  
"Wow, already? I'm all in, but some people would say it's too soon-" Bucky laughed.  
Steve groaned.  
"You're awful. Have I told you that before?"  
Bucky contemplated that.  
"So, does Friday at 8 work for you?" Bucky smirked.  
"You-"  
Steve stopped.  
He smirked back at Bucky, a challenge glinting there in his eyes. Oh, hell, Bucky thought. You've got no right to look that good.  
"You know what, Friday works perfectly." 

 

"Kiss me, James!"  
Steve put the back of his hand on his forehead, as if he were about to faint. He grinned, leaning back against Bucky.  
Steve was being melodramatic, outside the movie theater, because Bucky mentioned bringing earlier dates there.  
"What are you doing?" Bucky laughed.  
"Isn't that what your girls say?" Steve smiled up at him.  
"I don't have girls. Not anymore." He shook his head. Bucky slid his arms around Steve's waist.  
"You've got just one, then?" Steve turned to face him. His fingers fidgeted with a button on Bucky's jacket, and he couldn't wipe the faint smile from his lips.  
"I've got a guy." Bucky sounded wistful.  
"Ooh, scandalous." Steve giggled.  
"Shut up, you little punk." Bucky threw his arm around Steve's shoulders.  
"Pizza for dinner?" Steve asked, innocent. The corner of his mouth tugged up into a smile.  
Bucky groaned for dramatic effect.  
"The same old?" Bucky tucked a piece of Steve's hair back into place.  
"Yep."  
Instead of playful arguing, or a sarcastic remark, Bucky decided to be simple and honest.  
"Perfect."  
Just like everything, he realized.  
Perfect; you, with me, our stupid apartment, this restaurant, this money, this life we've made.  
You're perfect. 

 

Bucky and Steve were together for four months after that. 

 

In time, things had to change.  
Bucky had to leave.  
Steve changed; he was alone, which changed him inside, and then he was different outside, too.  
And then they were together again, for the briefest flicker in time. 

 

It was the dead of winter in Russia, and Steve and Bucky were in a tent in a camp full of other soldiers.  
Steve was a symbol for the nation.  
Bucky was a soldier.  
Nothing was the way it should have been.  
They were still in love, but things weren't perfect like they used to be.  
Things were messy. Complicated.  
"I'll take you for pizza when we get home." Bucky mumbled. He laid with his head against Steve's chest. Both of their hands were laced together, one of Steve's arms slung around Bucky's waist.  
He wasn't used to the feeling; he wasn't tiny Steve anymore. He had a body to match his strong will. It was new- not that Bucky minded- and it was, in truth, rather hot.  
Steve had always been hot, Bucky had always thought so.  
"Promise?" Steve's mouth was dry, and his tongue felt numb.  
He sounded far away, even though Bucky was touching him.  
It was a strange thing to ask, a promise for pizza.  
But Bucky knew that wasn't what he meant. He wanted a promise for home.  
"I promise, Steve. I'm good on my promises." Bucky reminded him.  
It had been too long since they'd been this close. He was afraid to move.  
"I know you are." Steve sighed.  
"Hey. Don't worry. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Til the end of the line, remember?" Bucky tried not to choke on the words.  
"Of course I remember." Steve's hands in Bucky's twisted.  
"It's okay, Steve."  
"I know." He replied softly.  
"No. I mean it's okay to be scared."  
"I'm not scared of this war." Steve shifted so that he could meet Bucky's eyes. "The only thing that scares me is you, out here with me."  
"I can hold my own." Bucky swallowed. "I was doing it before you even showed up." He meant it as a gentle reminder, but Steve instantly stiffened and looked hurt.  
He slowly pulled his hands and his arm away, and laid there next to Bucky, just shoulders touching.  
"I know." Steve turned away. "I shouldn't have let you."  
"It's not like we had a choice." Bucky felt like this whole conversation was strangling him.  
"We always have choices. You used to say that." Steve looked at him, and everything was there in his eyes; the anger, the fear, the hurt. Steve had always been an open book like that.  
"Yeah, well, we were different then. We made food. Now we make war." Bucky spoke sharply. "This is who we are." He looked down, feeling guilty for snapping, but knowing that he couldn't apologize. He couldn't be sorry for the truth.  
"It's not." Steve's words were barely audible. "We're just two kids from Brooklyn."  
"Not anymore." Bucky turned, his back facing Steve. He felt cold, but he didn't turn back.  
Of all the guys Bucky had been, this was the latest and most comfortable version of himself; cold, functional, and alone. 

 

Just because someone changes does not mean you have to stop loving them.  
It doesn't mean you even can.  
Steve Rogers learned this.  
No matter how much Bucky changed, he loved him.  
And he knew that Bucky loved him back, even though he didn't always say it.  
He knew because of the way Bucky took his hand when they sat next to each other, or the small smiles Bucky gave him, or the way Bucky brushed his shoulder. He knew because of the way Bucky kissed him with desperation, because of the way his hands were everywhere at once and his words were jumbled together.  
Even though Bucky wasn't the same, Steve knew him. 

 

Many things were lost in battle.  
Steve knew that; he was a soldier. He fought hard and he paid the price. There were consequences, but he did what was right.  
So many things got lost; decency, respect, blood, dignity, hope, and plenty of goodan men.  
Steve just never thought Bucky would be one of those things.  
As it turned out, he was. 

 

Grief is strange.  
Steve took it in and kept it there. He cried, but he didn't speak to anyone.  
He knew people would give him space to mourn the loss of his best friend.  
He wished that they would also give him space to mourn the loss of the person he loved.  
Steve wished he was back in New York, Bucky at his side where he belonged. He wished things were simpler.  
Wishing is strange, too. 

 

The ice was not nearly as cold as the empty tent was that first night after Bucky was gone.  
The ice was not nearly as cold as the realization of Bucky's death.  
The ice was not nearly as cold as the empty space in his heart. 

 

Years passed.  
Everything was different.  
The buildings were tore down, built up again. Their building still stood. Fires, floods, burglaries. Crime ran rampant. The streets filled with generation after generation. The people changed. The city grew.  
The whole nation grew.  
Bucky wasn't around to see it.  
Neither was Steve.  
They had always had soldier's hearts; strong, resilient, capable of withstanding pain and time, but also capable of loving so severely and so entirely that it hurt.  
It was those same hearts that found each other again after so much time, standing in that same city.  
Steve knew him.  
He always had, and he always would. He recognized Bucky in an instant. He'd seen that face so many times; woken up to it, kissed it, seen it smiling back at him in a photo or a mirror or right in front of him.  
But when he'd met Bucky's eyes, there was nothing there.  
He was a shell.  
All things change, in due time. 

 

Remembering came first.  
Loving came later. 

 

Steve brought Bucky back to the apartment more than 70 years later.  
They'd been both through hell and back, and it looked like the building had, too.  
So many things between them were new. So many things were broken.  
Steve didn't know how they could start over. He didn't know where to begin. He didn't even know what to say.  
Bucky didn't talk about his time spent as an assassin, and Steve didn't ask.  
There were so many holes in the fabric of their shredded relationship, and Steve wasn't sure if they could patch any of it up.  
Bucky was broken.  
Steve spoke slowly.  
"We... we lived here."  
Bucky was silent.  
No recognition flickered in his eyes as he scanned the building. He regarded it coldy, as if it were a mission he was assessing.  
"You and me?"  
Steve's heart dropped, faintly recalling a time when Bucky had said the same words, in a different context, in that same building, decades ago.  
Steve nodded numbly.  
Bucky stared hard at the crumbling bricks and the broken window. When he spoke, his words made Steve choke back a sob, and his voice was cracked.  
"I... I think I remember." 

 

Later, when they came back to that same building, a year after that, Steve wasn't in love with it anymore.  
He was, however, in love with Bucky. 

The building was run down; even more than the first time Steve had brought the Winter Soldier to see it. This time, they both had memories of it. This time, he was just Bucky.  
They stood side by side, looking up at it.  
It was dirtier than when they'd bought it.  
It looked ancient.  
But it wasn't just any crumbling brick wall.  
It still felt like home, like hope, like promises.  
It still rang with the thought of:  
"I love this place."  
"I love you."  
And  
"Friday works perfectly."  
"Everything is real good."  
"You and me? Til the end of time?"  
Bucky's hand found Steve's, cold and metal. Bucky's hand found Steve's, like a habit, just like it was natural.  
Bucky's hand found Steve's, like like it used to.  
"Pizza?" Bucky asked, shaking Steve out of his daydreams.  
"Yeah, Buck." Steve laughed, and he wanted to cry. For the first time since they'd owned that restaurant, things felt okay. For the first time, he felt relief. He squeezed Bucky's hand and turned away from the building to look at Bucky.  
That crumbling brick was their past. Bucky was his future.  
"We'll get pizza."


End file.
